The After

We left home again on April 7th, but this time we went north. We spent time with family. It helped to have our little purple princess there to entertain us. She received countless hugs and kisses. I don’t think she minded.

The days leading up to The. Day. are full of dread and emotional irrationality. We went to Babies R Us and bought Annie all sorts of ridiculous things that required assembly. But really, those things were for me – assembly instructions for a child’s toy were exactly what my mind needed. Plus, I got to use a hammer.

On every excursion out with Annie, someone inevitably asked, “is she your only child?” And we would smile and say, “the only one with us.” Most took it to mean her sibling wasn’t out shopping. We didn’t want to ruin their day and correct them, so we’d simply leave it at that.

We did a lot of cuddling, a lot of sleeping. And just when I thought I had things under control, we got bad news and the dam broke. I did a LOT of crying. It was a release, and it was exhausting.

Now that the seventh has passed, there is relief (which leads to guilt)., but there is also a hollowness. This space and energy that was worked up around surviving The Day is now uneasy, and disjointed, and sad. So, so sad.

The days leading up to a “land mine” day are always hard. On the day, I am numb, and the weeks after, I am bewildered, wondering how I got here, wondering how I survived, wondering how I am supposed to survive this again next year.

The after, once everyone leaves, everyone moves on, is always the hardest part.

Love and hugs sweetie. I’m standing here beside you every day. I spent a lot of time thinking about Maddie, and about you guys, last week and over the weekend. Every splash of purple I saw filled my heart and mind with thoughts of the Spohrs and the adorable, ever present Maddie.

Know that even when the day isn’t a “big day” there are still many of us out here supporting you, sending you love and remembering the girl with the biggest, brightest smile.

Yolanda says:

I cannot begin to understand what you go through everyday, or even… near… on… or around “The Day”. I pray your strength and honesty through this blog lifts you up so you are able to keep writing and sharing – helping others along the way.

Mary says:

The before, the during, and the after. They all have their own awfulness. Let us help, if there’s any way we can; and if there’s not, just know that we are out here. I hope the feeling of that, even if it’s just internet support, brings you some sense of being less alone.

when everyone leaves, it is always the hardest part. they get to go back to their lives, and you are left with your reality….your reality that hurts and sucks and is.not.fair.

i hate when people ask me how many children I have. i point to my belly and say this is #5. if i will never see them again and they ask how old they all are, i say 8, 6, 4 and 2. if i know i will see them again, i tell them about emma….but i hate that. i hate the pitying looks, the “oh my gosh i am so glad that isn’t me” looks. so, i really like to lie to people and tell them she is still here. or at least let them think that. i don’t think there is anything wrong with that.

Amy says:

I had a sister who died in infancy, before I was born. However, I have always been called an “only child.” It wasn’t until someone actually said, “I know you’re not really an only child…” that I realized what a wonderful feeling it was that someone acknowledged this. It somehow made the “only” not feel so “lonely.”

I agree, it is so hard when everyone else has moved on with their lives. I find myself wondering what it would be like to be a mom who did have all of her children with her. What would it be like not to have the grief, the guilt, the anniversaries? I know that neither of us will ever know but hopefully we will both find peace. Thinking of you all and sending hugs. Take care.

I have nothing but the utmost love and respect for you and every mother who has to face a “land mine” day and then continues to show the courage and heart that it takes to get up the next day and keep going. You (and Mike) are inspirational and I hope you know that. (Even if you don’t feel like it, you are. For realz)

mccgoods says:

I don’t know how to start. I was reading another blog and randomly clicked on a link that brought me here. I am actually sitting here reading blogs because I am on a leave of absence from work healing physically and emotionaly from a second miscarriage so I find it overwhelming that I just read your most recent post and then read last yrs post. I have already had to get through one due date and now all I have been focusing on is how are we are going to get through another due date. I understand your story is a thousand times different than mine, and I am cautiously reading past posts. I wanted to thank you though for making me feel that I am not a loon though for wanting to avoid “dates” Peace and love

I’m so sorry. I’m still months away from the one year anniversary of losing our baby, but I certainly understand the emotional exhaustion around significant dates. Of course it’s unfair that life somehow moves on, but so many thoughts are still with you and Maddie. I hope you find some comfort in that.

Kirsten says:

I saw the most beautiful sunset this evening on my way home from work. The sun was a deep burnished gold and the sky around it was every different shade of purple imaginable, from the palest lilac through to deep indigo and violet. It made my breath catch in my throat and I pulled over just to watch it for a while. It made me think of Maddie, so I thought I’d share with you that even the skies of Africa are paying tribute to your gorgeous little girl. I just wish I’d been able to take a picture.

Jenn says:

I know life has been very difficult, especially as of late – I’m so sorry about that and I truly wish you peace and happiness again. I am your friend – I’m NOT going ANYWHERE (unless it’s out to visit you). Through good and bad – the ups and downs I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE!!!!!!!!!!!

I think that the thing that stuck out most to me about this post reveals a lot about your character. When faced with a hard question, you lied because you were worried about ruining THEIR day. All of your days have been unfairly “ruined” because of the missing person at your side, yet you were worried about someone else. Your grace, perserverance, and compassion are inspiring.

Noelle says:

Cheryl says:

I think your answer to that awful question is beautiful. I never know what to say when people ask me questions like that–do I lie to make them comfortable and deny my child? Or do I just open that big can of worms and tell all. I usually say “I don’t have any children at home.” Or, “we have a very spoiled dog.”

i don’t expect you to move on. how could you? i mean, you DO, technically, because you keep LIVING, but that doesn’t mean anything about anything. you have absolutely every right to feel anyway you feel every day, every year. i’m sorry the anniversaries are so, so hard.

Amy says:

My brother was murdered in 1995. Invariably, I’m asked if I am an only child from time to time. The easy answer is yes but I can never seem to say this. It somehow negates his life even after this many years.
I don’t cry every day. But, I didn’t lose a baby. I pray your days will change and you will find some ease as more years pass.
Maddie has a sparkle that transcends the interwebs and the heavens. She sure captured my heart and I never met her.
Love to you all.

elizabeth says:

I can’t imagine your loss. I mean, I can kind of..because I too suffered a horrifying loss almost four years ago.
My dad died, suddenly. He and I were best friends, agent every day together..and then he was gone.
I needed to stay busy the days following. I needed the comfort of the family members that came running…and then they left and my mom and sisters were alone.
The pain of being alone while everyone moves on is something else. My mind keeps going back to the fact that when he died he was alone and the doctors and nurses were so damn cold.

I can’t imagine losing a child. If losing the strongest member of your family is this hard..I know I couldn’t stand losing a child.

I can’t say it gets better. It doesn’t. It does become more bearable…but you will miss her forever.